Lights Off
by SYNdicate 930
Summary: AU. One-shot. Request. Aomine can't have him, so he settles for a close second.


**Title:** Lights Off.  
**Author:** SYNdiate 930.  
**Summary:** AU. One-shot. Request. Aomine can't have him, so he settles for a close second.

_**—****-—****-—****-—**_

He keeps the lights off.

In the dark, Aomine can't see a thing; he doesn't _want_ to see anything. His sense of touch all he is left to really rely on, and that's how it's meant to be. The sight of his unmistakable eyes, hair, and face and distinct voice is unnecessary; all the power forward needs is to close his eyes and let his imagine flow wherever it so pleases.

The heat of the other boy's fit build, enticing softness of his pale skin and kiss-swollen lips, and feel of his body moving in time with his own, squeezing around him sinfully and arching against the squeaking bed into his chest in a frenzy of arousal is all he needs to feed his libido's large appetite.

To those inviting thighs he's only ever caught glimpses of in gym shorts and strong arms he's stared at through the steam of the boy's shower embedded into his memory, the undignified sprawl of their tangled limbs trembling blissfully, dark blush against his flawless skin and sweat slicked hair, to the little fantasies of them touching each other in the Teikou nurse's room when the old lady isn't around, and stealing little kisses and touches in mutual secrecy—his imagination keeps his cock hard and his body moving in sharp, needy thrusts.

Caressing each other in an excited frenzy of hot breaths and kisses, while groping, grabbing and scratching with explosive desire, a small whimper leaves his mouth and Aomine has to stop for a moment to press his palm against the other boy's mouth. He doesn't want to hear his voice. It ruins the illusion.

The boy groans in disappointment, and mumbles against his sweaty hand. The power forward can feel his lips part and a hot tongue run across his palm playfully, but it doesn't change a thing. He still doesn't want to hear him, and he begins to push down against the other boy's face with unintentional strength. Aomine hears him groan painfully, so he pulls away, shooting him an apologetic stare through the pitch black of his bedroom.

"Sorry, but that's one of the rules: you're not allowed to make any noise. Are we clear?" Aomine moves his hand slowly to the side of the boy's face, feeling his sweaty hair and the nodding of his head. "Good."

They've falling into a strange routine of wordlessness only filled with hisses and low grunts, squeaking of Aomine's bed, harsh panting and breaths as their lips meet, lewd slurping and the slapping of skin. Digging his fingers deep into the teen's pale skin, nails dragging across the underside of his thighs as Aomine presses down on his legs, forcing the other's knees to his sides, Aomine begins to move again. They claw and feel each other frantically, and, just before they reach their peak, Aomine feels arms encircle his sweaty neck and pull him down. His arms are too small and weak—they don't feel like _him_, so Aomine breaks away roughly, finishing soon after he does before the reality of it all sinks in. It is not, and never will be Kise.

The moon slowly rolls away as the sun comes out the play.

Sunlight spills through Aomine's dusty white blinds, and as he rolls onto his side into the light, brows furrowing, he enters the world of consciousness to find his nose buried in unbelievably messy light-blue hair that juts out in odd spikes this way and that. Kuroko smells just like Kise.

They say that one's sense of smell is directly linked to memories and association, and Aomine's gone the extra mile by going as far as to buying Kuroko the same cologne and shampoo Kise uses for whenever they decide to fuck. Aomine hadn't realized how fooling his sense would work, so he had thought turning off the lights would be enough, but it wasn't. The feel and experience had changed drastically and to his benefit the moment Kuroko started showering with the same products as Kise when he came over and putting on a little of that expensive spray the model endorses. But, even if he's found a way to fool his senses completely and make it feel as though it's him, Aomine is fully aware that it does nothing in his favor towards getting a hold of the real thing; of the boy whose every touch, kiss, caress, and moan under his possessive hands he desires—of the boy whose love he so desperately seeks.

With a deepening frown, he pulls away, pushing himself slowly into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, cold air striking his naked chest as he tugs the sheets away, breathing deeply and then sighing just a little exasperatedly.

He's never there when Kuroko wakes up. Waking up to each other naked—watching their eyes opening slowly and focus on where and who they are, mixed up in each other's heat under the warmth of a shared, stained blanket—is something he's only seen in movies and TV between two lovers, and they are far from that. Kuroko is not his, nor is Aomine Kuroko's.

Instead, Aomine often preoccupies himself with something else somewhere else around the house. Aomine doesn't have much interest in what Kuroko does outside the bedroom, so he lets him be. Aomine trusts him to slip back into his clothes and leave the moment he wakes up, and he does so every morning after without any complaints or goodbyes.

However, today is different. Rolling his head from shoulder to shoulder and stretching his upper body, as he listens idly to the loud cracks of his body go off one after another like a small array of gun fire, slender arms suddenly come to wrap around his middle the moment Aomine raises his arms over his head. Kuroko plants his face into the crook of Aomine's neck, his bare chest pressed against the power forward's back and a yawn escaping his lips. They sit silently, Kuroko cuddling against him in sincere affection.

Aomine is a little taken back by the boy's audacity.

In the light, where every little bit of Kuroko's body and pale face can be seen, the unmistakable shock of blue of his messy hair and large, dull eyes, Aomine's desire is completely drained. When Kuroko kisses the side of his face, and let's a hand fall to Aomine's crotch, barely covered by his soft comforter, Aomine brushes him off with a yawn. In the pitch black of night, Kuroko's every kiss and wandering curiosity of his hands-coupled by the strength of his fantasies and mind games he forces upon his senses—arouse him like no other. But, in the morning where the sun brings to light how much he's lied to himself and the deep whole he continuously digs and pulls Kuroko in with him, Aomine feels nothing.

"Good morning, Aomine-kun." Kuroko whispers into his ear.

"Get dressed and leave." Is all Aomine says in return. Kuroko does as he is told, and Aomine crawls back under the sheets to sleep some more. With closed eyes, he asks, "Oi, are you coming over again tonight?"

"Maybe." Aomine can hear Kuroko getting dressed. There is the sound of his bedroom door opening, and sleep finds its way to Aomine in just a handful of seconds.

—**-—-—-—**

"A-Aomine-kun…"

"Urgh, shut up!" He grunted.

In the dark, Aomine can't see a thing; he doesn't _want_ to see anything. His sense of touch all he is left to rely on, and that's how it's meant to be. The heat of the other boy's fit build, enticing softness of his pale skin and kiss-swollen lips, and feel of his body moving in time with his own, squeezing around him and arching against the squeaking bed into his chest in a frenzy of arousal is all he needs. The sight of his unmistakable eyes, hair, and face or distinct voice is unnecessary; all the power forward needs is to close his eyes and let his imagine flow wherever it so pleases.

To those thighs he's only ever caught glimpses of in gym shorts and pretty blonde hair and piercing, warm-honey eyes, the tensing of his muscles and sinful squeeze around his arousal, dark blush against his flawless skin and spread, to the little imagination of them together—he lets himself sink into every little fantasy with a moan.

Caressing each other in an excited frenzy of hot breaths and kisses, and groping, grabbing and scratching with explosive desire, a small whimper leaves his mouth and Aomine has to stop for a moment to press his palm against the other boy's mouth. He doesn't want to hear his voice, it ruins his hopeless illusions.

"A-Aomine-kun, t-turn the light on. Ahh… Look at me." The small hand on Aomine's chest leaves to turn on the small lamp of his nightstand, but he grabs a hold of it before it's too late.

"No talking and no lights. Quiet."

When the pale boy sits up to kiss him, Aomine breaks away, finishing soon after Kuroko he before the reality of it all sinks in. It is not, and never will be Kise.

"A-Aomine-kun…" Kuroko moans into his hand with a feline-like arch of his back.

"Kise…" Moans Aomine, his jaw-dropping. Kuroko's little heart breaks in half silently, suddenly thankful Aomine can't see him; lips curling ever so slightly into a sad frown, eyes watering just a tad.

They both keep the lights off.

—**-—-—-—**

******Original Request from ANON:** _Could you write a fic where Aomine likes Kise but knows he can't have him so he uses Kuroko as a replacement? (I'm sorry! I don't hate Kuroko! I promise!)_

**Note:** I don't know what I was trying to get across, but, please review and tell me what you think?

You can make a request on my tumblr: **Bakaomine**(all requests take some time, and will be published on this FanFiction account)


End file.
